Jack O'Judgment - Edgar Wallace (best book recommendations txt) 📗

she's not coming back for a long time. Do you understand?"

"I understand that part of it very well," said the Greek.

"I'm not to be mixed up in it," said Boundary. "The only thing I can promise you is that she'll go quietly. I'll have her passports fixed. She'll be travelling for her health—you understand? When you get to South America I want you to take her into the interior of the country. You're not to leave her in the music-halls in one of the coast towns where English and American tourists are likely to see her."

"But how are you going to——"

"That's my business," said the colonel. "You understand what you have to do. I'll send you the date you leave and I'll pay her passage and yours. For any out-of-pocket expenses you can send the bill to me, you understand?"

Obviously it was not a job to the liking of Phillopolis, but he had good reason to fear the colonel and acquiesced with a nod. Boundary went back to where he had left Pinto and found the Portuguese biting his finger-nails—a favourite spare-time occupation of his.

"Did you fix it?" he asked in a low voice.

"Of course, I fixed it," said the colonel sharply.

"I'm not going to have anything to do with it," said the other, and the colonel smiled.

"Maybe you'll change your mind," he said significantly.

There was a knock at the door and the colonel himself answered it. He took the card from the servant's hand and read:

"Mr. Stafford King,
"Criminal Intelligence Department."

He looked from the card to Pinto, then:

"Show him in."

CHAPTER XI THE COLONEL AT SCOTLAND YARD

The two men had not met since they had parted at the door of the North Lambeth Police Court, and there was in Colonel Boundary's smile something of forgiveness and gentle reproach.

"Well, Mr. King," he said, "come in, come in, won't you?"

He offered his hand to the other, but Stafford apparently did not see it.

"No malice, I trust, Mr. King?" said the colonel genially. "You know my friend Mr. Silva? A business associate of mine, a director of several of my companies."

"I know him all right," said Stafford and added, "I hope to know him better."

Pinto recognised the underlying sense of the words, but not a muscle of his face moved. For Stafford King the hatred with which he regarded the law lost its personal character. This man was something more than a thief-taker and a tracker of criminals. Pinto chose to regard him as the close friend of Maisie White, and as such, his rival.

"And to what are we indebted for this visit?" asked the bland colonel.

"The chief wants to see you."

"The chief?"

"Sir Stanley Belcom. Being the chief of our department I should have thought you had heard of him."

"Sir Stanley Belcom," repeated the other; "why, of course, I know Sir Stanley by repute. May I ask what he wants to see me about? And how is my young friend—er—Miss White?" asked the colonel.

"When I saw her last," replied Stafford steadily, "she was looking pretty well, so far as I could tell."

"Indeed!" said the colonel politely. "I have a considerable interest in the welfare of Miss White. May I ask when you saw her?

"Last night," replied Stafford. "She was standing at the door of her apartments in Doughty Street, having a little talk with your friend," he nodded to Pinto, and Pinto started; "also," said the cheerful Stafford, "another mutual friend of ours, Mr. Crewe, was within hailing distance, unless I am greatly mistaken."

"So you were watching, eh?" burst out Pinto "I thought after the lesson you had a couple of weeks ago, you'd have——"

"Let me carry on this conversation, if you don't mind," said the colonel, and the fury in his eyes silenced the Portuguese.

"We have agreed to let bygones be bygones, Mr. King, and I am sure it is only his excessive zeal on my behalf that induced our friend to be so indiscreet as to refer to the unpleasant happenings—which we will allow to pass from our memories."

So the girl was being watched. That made things rather more difficult than he had imagined. Nevertheless, he anticipated no supreme obstacle to the actual abduction. His plans had been made that morning, when he saw in the columns of the daily newspaper a four-line advertisement which, to a large extent, had cleared away the greatest of his difficulties.

"And if Mr. King is looking after our young friend, Maisie White, the daughter of one of our dearest business associates—why, I'm glad," he went on heartily. "London, Mr. King, is a place full of danger for young girls, particularly those who are deprived of the loving care of a parent, and one of the chief attractions, if I may be allowed to say so, which the police have for me, is the knowledge that they are the protectors of the unprotected, the guardians of the unguarded."

He made a little bow, and for all his amusement Stafford gravely acknowledged the handsome compliment which the most notorious scoundrel in London had paid the Metropolitan Police Force.

"When am I to see your chief?"

"You can come along with me now, if you like, or you can go to-morrow morning at ten o'clock," said Stafford.

The colonel scratched his chin.

"Of course, I understand that this summons is in the nature of a friendly——" he stopped questioningly.

"Oh, certainly," said Stafford, his eyes twinkling, "it isn't the customary 'come-along-o'-me' demand. I think the chief wants to meet you, to discover just the kind of person you are. You will like him, I think, colonel. He is the sort of man who takes a tremendous interest in—er——"

"In crime?" said the colonel gently.

"I was trying to think of a nice word to put in its place," admitted Stafford; "at any rate, he is interested in you."

"There is no time like the present," said the colonel. "Pinto, will you find my hat?"

On the way to Scotland Yard they chatted on general subjects till Stafford asked:

"Have you had another visitation from your friend?"

"The Jack o' Judgment?" asked the colonel. "Yes, we met him the other night. He's rather amusing. By the way, have you had complaints from anywhere else?"

Stafford shook his head.

"No, he seems to have specialised on you, colonel. You have certainly the monopoly of his attentions."

"What is going to happen supposing he makes an appearance when I happen to have a lethal weapon ready?" asked the colonel. "I have never killed a person in my life, and I hope the sad experience will not be mine. But from the police point of view, how do I stand suppose—there is an accident?"

Stafford shrugged his shoulders.

"That is his look out," he said. "If you are threatened, I dare say a jury of your fellow countrymen will decide that you acted in self-defence."

"He came the other night," the colonel said reminiscently, "when we were fixing up a particularly difficult—er—business negotiation."

"Bad luck!" said Stafford. "I suppose the mug was scared?"

"The what?" asked the puzzled colonel.

"The mug," said Stafford. "You may not have heard the expression. It means 'can'—'fool'—'dupe.'"

The colonel drew a long breath.

"You still bear malice, I see, Mr. King," he said sadly.

He entered the portals of Scotland Yard without so much as a tremor, passed up the broad stairs and along the unlovely corridors, till he came to the double doors which marked the First Commissioner's private office. Stafford disappeared for a moment and presently returned with the news that the First Commissioner would not be able to see his visitor for half an hour. Stafford apologised but the colonel was affability itself and kept up a running conversation until a beckoning secretary notified them that the great man was disengaged.

It was King who ushered the colonel into his presence. Sir Stanley was writing at a big desk and looked up as the colonel entered.

"Sit down, colonel," he said, nodding his head to a chair on the opposite side of the desk. "You needn't wait, King. There are one or two things I want to speak to the colonel about."

When the door had closed behind the detective, Sir Stanley leaned back in his chair. Their eyes met, the grey and the faded blue, and for the space of a few seconds they stared. Sir Stanley Belcom was the first to drop his eyes.

"I've sent for you, colonel," he said, "because I think you might give me a great deal of information, if you're willing."

"Command me," said the colonel grandly.

"It is on the matter of a murder which was committed in London a few months ago," said the commissioner quietly and for a moment Colonel Boundary did not speak.

"I presume you are referring to the 'Snow' Gregory murder?" he said at last.

"Exactly," nodded the commissioner. "We have had an inquiry from America as to the identity of this young man. Now, you knew him better than anybody else in London, colonel. Can you tell me, was he an American?"

"Emphatically not," said the colonel with a little sigh, as though he were relieved at the turn the conversation was taking. "I came to know him through—er—circumstances, and exactly what they were I cannot for the moment remember. I had a lot to do with him. He did odd jobs for me."

"Was he well educated?" asked the commissioner.

"Yes, I should say he was," said the colonel slowly. "There was a story that he had been to Oxford, and that's very likely true. He spoke like a college man."

"Do you know if he had any relations in England?"

The commissioner eyed the other straightly and the colonel hesitated. How much does this man know? he wondered, and decided that he could do no harm if he told all the truth.

"He had no relations in England," he said, "but he had a father who was abroad."

"Ah, now we're getting at some facts," said the commissioner and drew a slip of paper towards him. "What was the father's name?"

The colonel shook his head.

"That I can't tell you, sir," he said. "I should like to oblige you but I have no more idea of what his name was than the man in the moon. I believe he was in India, because letters from India used to come to Gregory."

"Was Gregory his name?"

"His Christian name, I think," said the colonel after a moment's thought. "He went wrong at college and was sent down. Then he went to Paris and started to study art, and he got in trouble there, too. That's as much as he ever told me."

"He had no brothers?" asked the commissioner.

"None," said the colonel emphatically. "I am certain of that, because he once thanked God that he was the only child."

"I see," the commissioner nodded; "you have formed no theory as to why he met his death or how?"

"No theory at all," said the colonel, but corrected himself. "Of course, I've had ideas and opinions, but none of them has ever worked out. So far as I know, he had no enemies, although he was a quick-tempered chap, especially when he was recovering from a dose of 'coco,' and would quarrel with his own grandmother."

"You've no idea why he was in London? Apparently he did not live here."

The colonel shrugged his massive shoulders.

"No, I couldn't tell you anything about that, sir," he said.

"He was not an American?" asked the commissioner again.

"I could swear to that," answered the colonel.

There was a pause and he waited.

"There's another matter." The commissioner spoke slowly. "I understand that you are being bothered by a mysterious individual who calls himself the Knave of Judgment."

"Jack o' Judgment," corrected the colonel with a contemptuous smile. "Those sort of monkey tricks don't bother me, I can assure you."

"I have my theories about the Jack o' Judgment," said the commissioner. "I have been looking up the circumstances of the murder, and I seem to remember that on the body was found a playing card."

"That's right," said